Candace Robb - A Spy For The Redeemer

‘Why not complete it. Owen away on a treasonous adventure? Owen away for ever?’

He met her eyes. ‘You do not think I believe such rumours!’

‘Why did you not tell me?’

‘You did not know?’

‘Magda told me.’

‘Your friends have had a care not to tell you then.’

‘How long?’

Roger frowned. ‘A while, but it began merely with puzzlement that Brother Michaelo returned alone. Then after the news of your father’s death became stale, they turned to the captain.’

Lucie noticed that his hair was damp with sweat, as if he had hurried to see her. ‘But you did not tell me the reason for your visit,’ she said. ‘Is there some news?’

‘No, no, I merely wished to see how you were.’ He looked increasingly uncomfortable. ‘I shall come another day.’

‘Do you wish to discuss Harold Galfrey?’

Roger hesitated, then said, ‘We shall discuss it another day.’ And with that, he turned and hurried away from her. As he disappeared behind the hedge that led to the gate, he gave an exclamation.

Lucie could not see through the bushes, but she heard Bess Merchet’s voice quite clearly. ‘Such a hurry, Master Moreton. There are no dogs in this garden, surely. Is the devil nipping at your heels?’

Roger murmured something. Lucie heard the gate open and shut. ‘Bess?’

With her usual decisive tread, Bess appeared at the head of the path and came marching down. She had changed into what she called her scrubbing gown, a simple fustian with no trim, and one of her old caps, sans ribbons. Lucie imagined a serving maid was being instructed on the fine points of cleaning the inn. Bess carried a jug.

‘You look as if you are busy. What brings you back here?’ Lucie asked.

Bess tucked a loose red tendril back into her cap, then held up the jug. ‘Brandywine. I had a thought you might need comforting, suddenly alone, thinking about your father. But I see Roger Moreton had the same idea. A different sort of comfort.’

Lucie felt herself blushing, which was unfortunate when under Bess’s scrutiny.

‘I see,’ Bess said, her eyes narrowed.

‘What do you see?’

‘He embraced you and you did not pull away. I certainly saw that.’

‘He found me weeping and thought to comfort me. I did pull away. And he apologised.’

Bess looked doubtful. ‘Quite a red face he had as he left. I imagine he knows I caught you.’

‘You caught nothing, Bess. A friend comforting a friend. That is all that you saw.’

‘I cannot understand you, Lucie Wilton. Wed to the handsomest man I have ever seen, who loves you dearly, and you dally with a merchant and a steward while he is away.’

‘What?’

‘Or was Jasper mistaken? Was it not Harold Galfrey but Roger Moreton who kissed your hand the other day?’

This was worse than Phillippa witnessing it, with Jasper already suspicious of Roger Moreton. Now Harold Galfrey, too? ‘When did Jasper tell you this?’

Bess set the jug on the ground at her feet and rubbed her hands. ‘This morning. While we moved things for your guests. He looked sad. I said he must be missing Sir Robert. But I could tell that was not all. With some prodding I had it from him.’ Bess shook her head. ‘Was it Harold?’

‘Harold Galfrey kissed my hand, it is true.’

‘What is this all about? Has Owen been gone too long?’

The question startled Lucie.

Bess nodded. ‘I have always worried about you when Owen went on one of his adventures.’

‘I love Owen. I would not be unfaithful to him.’

‘But?’

‘I feel so alone.’

Bess’s irritation dissolved into sympathy. She picked up the jug, put an arm round Lucie. ‘Listen to me, chiding you when you have been beset by one thing and another of late. It would try the patience of Job, and I cannot think whose steadfastness. Jasper will not be ruined by what he saw. Tell him you love Owen, that is all he wants to hear. Come now, be at peace. Come into the house and share a cup of good cheer.’

Brother Michaelo walked back to the archdeacon’s house slowly, disturbed by what he had just heard. Archbishop Thoresby had suggested that Michaelo go to the Bedern, the area in which the cathedral clerics lived, and listen to the gossip. Getting the clerks to talk had been no problem — they all knew that he had accompanied Owen Archer and Sir Robert D’Arby to Wales, and it was of that journey they wanted news. How had Sir Robert died, where was he buried, who was to live at Freythorpe Hadden now, was Wales as wild as they said, were the French on the shores, why was the captain still there?

It was the questions about the captain that disturbed Michaelo. He needed to think how to tell His Grace in such a way that he did not reveal Sir Robert’s similar worries about Owen. For Sir Robert had been concerned about his son-in-law. Owen’s behaviour had begun to change as the company crossed the Severn river and entered the Welsh Marches. He had become increasingly defensive about the Welsh and angry about how the English treated them. He had also been in contact with an old friend, a Fleming who worked for King Charles of France and at the moment was assisting the cause of Owain Lawgoch. To Michaelo’s mind there was little chance that Owen would desert his family to fight for a puppet of the French king. The captain had spent too much of his life fighting the French. But what of his anger about the English behaving as conquerors in Wales? Michaelo caught himself — he, too, was being influenced by the rumours and he had been with the captain in Wales so recently.

Lucie lingered at the table with Bess, grateful for the warmth in her stomach from the brandywine. But her companion did not look at ease. ‘I should not keep you so long from your work,’ said Lucie.

Her words seemed to wake Bess from a reverie. ‘The dirt will still be there, if I know my maids.’ The complaint was flat.

‘What is wrong?’

Bess grimaced, poured a finger more brandywine in both cups, ignoring Lucie’s protests. But Bess did not drink, rather she stared into her cup. ‘I do not wish to give you more to fret about. But you should know what folk are saying.’

‘About Owen? I know, Bess.’

She made a show of slumping with relief. ‘Praise God, I did not wish to be the one to tell you. Who did?’

‘Magda. I do not understand how anyone could think that of Owen.’

‘If you ask me, no one believes any ill of Owen, they just enjoy the talk. When a body is gossiping, he is not thinking.’ Bess rose, crossed over the floor quickly to the kitchen door and opened it. ‘There you are, Kate. How was my new serving girl this morning? Was she a help to you?’

Lucie could not hear Kate’s reply over the sounds of the children awakening up above.

‘Bess, ask Kate to bring Gwenllian and Hugh down.’

Bess did so, then returned to the table as Kate hurried up to the solar.

‘You thought she was listening?’ Lucie asked.

Bess pressed the cork firmly into the jug, brushed off her skirt. ‘Kate is honest and hard-working, I know, but she is not so bright as to realise how gossip might hurt you.’ She rose as Gwenllian clattered down from the solar. Kate followed, Hugh in her arms. She looked worried as she handed him to Lucie.

‘What is wrong?’

‘You will want to go up, Mistress Lucie. Dame Phillippa is gathering her clothes. She says she is leaving.’

Holy Mary Mother of God, what was the woman thinking? Lucie handed Hugh to Bess and hurried up to her chamber where, indeed, Phillippa’s clothes were roughly crammed into the small chest she had brought from Freythorpe. Phillippa paced and muttered to herself. She wore the small linen cap in which she slept, her grey hair hanging down her back in thin, tangled strands. Her shift was wrinkled from sleep, her legs and feet bare. The gown she had been wearing still hung on a hook on the wall.